Do you remember that the someone in that story was you? I do. I remember feeling so damned violated for my child. I remember feeling trapped by your hospitality and your age and what? Your social standing? I remember the moment of abject panic when it quite frankly took everything I had not to smack your hand away from my child’s face. You grabbed an autistic child’s face to make her look at you. And then something miraculous happened. My girl spoke for herself. “I HATE BEING TOUCHED!” she yelled. God, I was so proud of her. So instead of leading, I followed. I loudly praised her for telling you – with words – not to touch her. I repeated her words to make sure you’d heard them, loudly and clearly, “I’m so proud of you,” I said, “for telling Mrs. Wright that you DON’T LIKE TO BE TOUCHED.” It was in the car on the way back home from your house that Katie would explain to her sister that she really does like to be touched, but not without permission by people she doesn’t know. And it was then that she would turn to me, fuming and indignant and say, “Doesn’t that lady run the biggest Autism charity in the world? I don’t get it. Does she even know anything at all about autism?” Shit, I knew AS was problematic, no one told me they were this supervillain-y.
Posted on: Wed, 13 Nov 2013 00:40:59 +0000
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